Rosemary
by kittiegalal
Summary: Hermione deals with the stress of her parents' divorce and the ongoing war with Voldemort. HBP spoilers. HGRW


A/N: Hey folks. This is my attempt at looking farther into Hermione's background. The idea came to me, if this at all interests you, shortly after my parents split up. So, yeah, on to the (hopefully) interesting stuff.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J. K. Rowling. If I were J. K. Rowling, I would not be sitting here writing fanfiction. That would be rather difficult, as I would be the actual author instead of some weirdo with spare time and a computer. But, I'm not. So there ya go.

**Rosemary**

Hermione Granger is confused and upset.

Although that may seem like a simple enough statement, it is startling in many ways. For once, she isn't upset over the war, or whoever has just been killed. She isn't angry with Ron anymore, not since his birthday. Even though he doesn't seem to understand.

No, none of those things are much upsetting Hermione at the moment. What are bothering her are her parents. Hermione feels small and foolish, like any angst-ridden teenager, as a matter of fact. And she's terrified by the fact that her parents could evoke emotions in her that phenomenal events, like Voldemort's return, could hardly approach. Indeed, the tears that Hermione shed at Cedric's funeral had been nothing in comparison to the massive swelling of her tear ducts at the beginning of the summer after fourth year.

**Flashback**

_She'd been more than happy to leave her house for Number 12 Grimmauld Place at the time. Anything to get her mind off of the horrible, unbearable reality that lay at her home. God, that as the first she'd ever seen her father cry, when her mum announced that she was no longer in love, without any apparent concern for what she was doing to her family. Hermione never wanted to see her father cry like that again. Ever. Everything would remind him of Mrs. Granger, setting him off as he smelled the rosemary of her favorite perfume, even. _

_Happiness, tears of joy were all that coursed down Hermione's face as she packed her trunk for the last two months of summer holiday. She hugged her dad, tightly, as he began to cry, too. Hermione called her mum to say goodbye, feeling guilty all the while for leaving her parents to come home to an empty house. Empty. That's how Hermione had felt as she took her supply of Floo powder from her trunk and tossed some into the fireplace. "The Burrow," she yelled, with no real emotion. The Burrow. God, had she been happy to be there, in a house -no, a home- filled with love and laughter. And Ron._

_Ron. The thick-headed, vain, selfish, lovable red-head that Hermione counted as one of her best friends. The person who could make her laugh, cry, or sigh at any given moment. The one who, if she were hurt, would be the last to notice, but also the last to stop worrying. The person who could pick a fight easier than his teeth. The one who, upon Hermione's arrival, yelped her name and grinned so widely that his face looked likely to split in two. _

_As grim as those days were, Hermione had more fun sloughing through layers of dust at Order of the Phoenix headquarters that she had had sobbing into her pillow at home as her father did the same in the next room. She was able to forget temporarily about her home situation as she laughed when Fred and George Apparated into priceless Black family heirlooms while testing their joke shop products. She hung around a lot with Ginny, listening to Mad-Eye tell stories about the old Order. They met Tonks, a clumsy Metamorphmagus and Auror with pink hair that both girls secretly envied. When Harry showed up around his birthday, he, Ron, and Hermione passed the remainder of the summer together as the situation outside got worse and worse._

_Before the trio realized, they had been back at Hogwarts for their fifth year. The term was filled with nasty, toad-like High Inquisitors, defensive classes taught by Harry, and nargle-infested mistletoe, but most of all, the ever-looming presence of Voldemort. For Hermione, enough hormonal imbalances mixed with thoughts of her parents were enough to make her cry on a regular basis. But as the rest of the wizarding world was coming to terms with Voldemort's return, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Luna had fought against You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries._

_As they had meandered through the eerie, shadowed place, Hermione had glimpsed a room that seemed only to hold a mirror. As she stared, however, in the mirror appeared her mother and father, smiling and laughing and kissing together. She gasped, trying to keep tears from coming, as she trotted ahead to catch up with the others. She caught pace with Ron, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Ron glanced over at her, startled. A look of concern came over his face, but he didn't say anything. Hermione pulled a hand over her face, trying to make it look as though she was calming herself down, but really sighing mentally in exasperation. She was grateful that she didn't have to explain herself, but the way he acted sometimes mad her think that maybe…Just…maybe. _

_And then, all of a sudden, they had come. The Death Eaters, with him. Voldemort. Next had all been a blur of terror and flashes of spell-light. And pain. God, was there pain. _

_She supposed she had been knocked unconscious, because she awoke in the Hospital Wing back at Hogwarts. Her throat clenched as she saw Ron lying still in the bed across from her, ghastly pale. He had bruise lines across him as if some long, many-tentacled thing had tried to strangle him. But he was all right. Hermione let out a breath she hadn't know she was holding and nearly yelped in pain. As it was, she started to cough. Loudly._

_Ron jerked awake, glancing around, then slumped back down, his body language clearly stating, "Screw it. I wanna sleep." But then he froze, and Hermione recognized the same concerned gaze as last night. Red in the face from coughing, she gave him a weak grin. He smiled back, although it looked painful, and, Hermione thought (hoped? wished?) relieved. _I mean, _she thought, _of course he would be relieved. He would be if I were Harry. Great, _she thought_ _bitterly_, wonderful. We're friends, of course. Just friends. **Just friends!** _she reminded herself. Still, that couldn't repel the giddiness that welled up inside of her at the look of worry on Ron's face when she started to cough again. There must have been too much rosemary in her potion, Hermione had concluded. Rosemary always did make her act a bit strange._

End Flashback

Hermione smiles, recalling the strange, addled happiness at the end of last school year. It almost diminishes the shock of the owl-delivered parchment that is threatening to drop from her fingertips. It relates the horror of her mother re-marrying. It has been nearly two years since the divorce, but Hermione can't suppress the feelings of resentment and overall sadness at the idea that her mother is replacing her and her dad. All of this, coupled with Dumbledore's demise, depresses Hermione to the point that she is no longer able to cry.

The day of the funeral dawns. Hermione dons her best black robes, then decides better of it. Why gloom up such a dark day even more? Even the weather has decided to be contrary. The bright blue skies provide a laughable contrast to the mood.

As Hermione walks with Harry, Ginny, and Ron to find seats, she expects to sit there, numbly, throughout the service. But as the ceremony begins, she finds herself shedding the tears that she didn't think she had. She cries for Dumbledore, yes, and her father, and everyone else, but mostly she cries for herself, having to face all of this alone.

Hermione looks up, feeling more empty than ever. Empty, alone. But as she looks up, she sees the person next to her, leaking tears down his freckly face. As she reaches out and holds Ron tight, she hears a voice in her head repeating, "_Dumbledore would be happier than anyone to think there was a little more love in the world_."

And Hermione realizes, as she smells parchment, new mown grass, and a hint of rosemary, that whoever said that, had been absolutely right.

A/N- So, how was that? Please, review, if you would so kindly.


End file.
